Reunion
by Reginald Kastle
Summary: past life! dorunasch drabble for a friend. Nasch was never a patient man.


Hello did someone say dorunasch for a lovely lady

Told through the eyes [partially at least] of Barian queen matchmaker Merag whose name we will not bring up in my presence because I will break down in tears over the wasted opportunity that was the name Megrez

Whoa Nasch turned out really cheerful and this turned really Hamlet-esque I am very sorry

Don't yell at me about historical inaccuracies I tried okay

I'm open for fic trades at the moment too, if anyone's interested.

* * *

There's something very wrong with the kingdom's leader, Nasch.

At least that's the conclusion that Merag's come to, because it's the third time in a matter of days that she's had to physically make her way into her brother's room, giving a roll of her eyes as she finds him exactly where she expects him to be – leaning out over his balcony, _not_ doing his job.

"uh,_ my lord?_" she stresses, clicking her fingers with her free hand absentmindedly as her eyes followed the man's gaze – his eyes connect with hers for a second before turning out towards the sea again and she wants to just sit him down and _maybe_ knock some sense into him, and she certainly would if she had the chance. "Have you forgotten that you are running a country? Because you have commitments to attend to and people to meet with and these are-"

"He was supposed to come back by now." Nasch interrupts, gritting his teeth as he notices his whitened knuckles bearing against the railing underneath him. Merag gives a sigh, placing her papers to the table before walking to his side and gripping his shoulder as reassuringly as she can manage.

"I haven't seen anything, if that's what you're asking. You know it's a long trip and the weather is bad. I'm sure he's fine." Her confidence in her words is as reassuring as her touch and his shoulders slump forward as he relaxes out his tense muscles.

"I'm not a patient man." He insists as he turns to face her, wincing as he spots the scowl that he's addressed by.

"I'm quite aware. But you really need to get this stuff done. Come on." She turns, picking up her papers and gripping them between her fingers as she waits for him to catch up. "Look, you were _supposed_ to have a full day today but you've already abandoned some of those in your little waiting game; luckily for you I worked it out for another day and you still have some good trading opportunities. Seriously though Nasch, what are you going to do if I'm married off or killed? Just wither away in a corner?"

She doesn't wait for a reply before she continues with his list of appointments for the day; trades, deals with other countries, speeches for his subjects, the list seems never ending and he yawns in boredom. As much as he loves his subjects, as much as he loves being their king and ruling, it's quite arduous for him to deal with every single day.

Merag's shoulders slump because he's too distracted and there's really no point when he's like this; she could say _anything_ and he wouldn't care in the slightest. "Look okay, this is really bugging you, huh?" he frowns and refuses to look at her which tells her all she needs to know. "Pull yourself together, alright?"

She pushes him through the doors to his first appointment, a plan already forming in her head.

* * *

Durbe does his best to not trail mud all throughout the castle, but it's kind of a lost cause. The weather's been so brutal that flying there was an almost impossible task – he's glad he's made it here alive let alone well and undamaged, as well as his steed. Merag greeted him instead of the usual Nasch; she tells him he is busy with commitments to which Durbe relaxes with a _when isn't he_; she's insisted on taking him to Nasch because _he's been waiting like some lost puppy_.

It confuses Durbe as to why he'd wait in such a way each time for his arrival. By the way Merag describes it whenever he talks to the lady, it seems that it's a habitual ritual for the man to wait for him to return, and it fills him with this feeling that he can only describe as esteem for the male.

[After all, it's nice to feel needed, even when he's not.]

"Don't worry about the mess on the carpet." Merag interjects his thoughts with a small smile. "We do have cleaners for a reason. But I do ask that you don't ruin my clothes."

"Best royal attire?" Durbe questions as he follows next to her, doing his best to keep his mess to himself. "Is there some sort of special occasion that I'm intruding on?"

Merag frowns. "No, there's not, I was heading to prayer when I saw you come in. Though I'm sure if you asked Lord Nasch the right way he'd name a holiday after you or something."

"He can do that?" Durbe asks, raising an eyebrow at Merag's answering laugh.

"I'm sure he could if he really wanted to. Go get cleaned up, you know how to get to where you stay. I will see you later." Merag gives a small curtsey before disappearing from sight. Durbe sighs, easily finding his way to the establishment that Nasch insists he stay in each time he has his extended stays. He shuts the door and outwardly groans as he takes in what has to have been placed there by Merag, discarding it from his thoughts as he begins removing his armour from his body and lets it fall to the ensuite floor.

He's not one for just wasting time so he's done quickly and changed into the outfit that Merag's picked out for him. He manoeuvres down the halls, doing his best to not scratch at the expensive silk designs that his skin was not used to. It's completely unnecessary, but he's sure Merag's got some sort of plan set in motion that he's unwillingly walked into like he does every time.

He shakes the thoughts from his head, knocking gently on the door with a "_my lord?"_ before entering.

He's greeted by the closest thing he's ever seen to Nasch actually smiling, only to watch the mysterious expression contort from amusement to frustration to something he's not quite sure how to place.

His eyes widen as the unexpected weight is brought upon him, though it's not unwelcomed; he may be being hugged by the king of a nation at the present time, one who – if the way of his balled fists pressing into Durbe's back had any indication – was about to yell at him for being so delayed, it's still Nasch, and it's still his best friend.

"You're back." Nasch breathes, holding him at arm's length. "Who the hell dressed you?" he tries to stifle laughter but it makes its way through.

"Your sister, Lady Merag." Durbe replies, crossing his arms.

"Sounds about right." Nasch murmurs, shaking his head. "Threaten to marry her off a million times and she still does what she wants anyway, knowing I won't go through with it." Durbe laughs, his cheerful voice reverberating throughout the room as Nasch slings his arm over the knight's shoulders. "So tell me my good man, what news have you brought me this time that required such a lengthy unforewarned delay?"

Durbe's cheery smile is gone in an instant. "I wish to apologize for that, my lord. I-" he's shocked into silence by Nasch taking his jaw in his hand and shutting it for him. His eyes blink bewilderedly as Nasch gives a small smirk.

"Now, now_ Sir_ Durbe, how many times must I insist on simply _Nasch_ and not this 'my lord' business?" his smirk widens as Durbe relaxes, knowing that he's not _really_ in trouble. "For what are a few honorifics between friends?"

"I'm sorry m-Nasch, but it seems to be something of a habit." is what Durbe tries to say, but with Nasch's hand still placed firmly under his chin, it comes out more like "ihm sooreh mnasseh buh is seems ke ge somehin oh a habi-"

"A habit in need of breaking, it seems." Nasch murmurs, catching on immediately, straightening and letting go of Durbe's chin.

Durbe massages his chin in annoyance as Nasch turns to the balcony he has taken an attachment to, leaning against the door frame and letting his cape drift aimlessly in the wind.

"So what's the news about Vector?" he murmurs, and Durbe has to walk closer and get him to repeat his statement twice before he fully understands.

"He's invaded and overcame another two kingdoms in the lands to the north west of here." Durbe pauses before launching into his recount of what he's heard and experienced since their last encounter.

By the end, he's tired and the reminders wear him out more than the trip, and as much as he wants to listen to Nasch's many theories and battle strategies, he's yawning and can barely keep his eyes open. If it were anyone else he was sure he'd be sent to the dungeons to rot for such an insulting manoeuvre; Nasch just scowls and throws the man's arm over his shoulder and assists him to the spare room that has become his second home.

"How long are you planning to grace us with your presence this time?" Nasch enquires as he helps the man into bed, dropping into a spare seat as he waits patiently for him to doze off.

Durbe shrugs. "Until my people need me again."

Nasch murmurs something quietly to himself, scowling and turning his gaze from the man slowly drifting to sleep in front of him as he crossed his legs impatiently. Durbe yawns again before closing his eyes and letting out a sigh.

"If you were to need me my lord, you know I would come back in an instant."


End file.
